


fizzle

by MasterFinland



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Crying, Dissociation, Family, Family Dynamics, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Parental Kurapika (Hunter X Hunter), Parental Leorio Paladiknight, Past Child Abuse, Pet Names, Sickfic, Touch-Starved, Vomiting, bcus i said so, excessive use of parenthesis, killua is a child, killua lives with leorio and kurapika, know that it is implied tho, kurapika is trans in this but i dont mention it, man, somewhat graphic depictions of sickness, theyre just kids, trauma response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24420043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterFinland/pseuds/MasterFinland
Summary: Killua has barely been here a month, in his own soft, small bedroom, full of handmade quilts and toys and anything else he can dream of, when everything comes crashing down.
Relationships: Kurapika & Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika & Leorio Paladiknight, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Leorio Paladiknight & Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 42
Kudos: 437





	fizzle

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21461917) by [goatman_entrapment](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goatman_entrapment/pseuds/goatman_entrapment). 



> back at it again with traumatized children getting the love and protection they deserve

Leorio knows, logically, that Killua was bound to get sick sooner or later. 

He’s been expecting it for a few weeks now, walking on metaphorical eggshells as Killua steadily got harder and harder to deal with. He’d only gotten angrier and angrier since moving into the spare bedroom of his and Kurapika’s tiny apartment, nestled in the center of the city, snapping at the littlest things until Kurapika, near tears, had been forced to send him to his room to cool off after a particularly nasty emotional outburst.

(Leorio doesn’t remember, at all, what he’d been so angry about, red in the face and screaming until his voice cracked and broke, full of emotions far too big and far too loud for him to properly understand. But he does remember the next morning, when Killua’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and so, so blank, and it was very, very clear that he’d barely, if at all, slept during the night. Leorio recalls, staring at the dark purple bag underneath his eyes, wondering when the last time Killua got a good night’s sleep was. 

Leorio had stayed silent, had made him his favorite tea and left him alone to process his swirling thoughts, left him alone with his panic disguised as numbness, and wishes so, so desperately that he hadn’t. 

He wishes he had said something, wishes he had told Killua that it’s okay to be upset about things, no matter how small. He wishes, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he had pulled Killua into his arms and just held him there, as safe and protected from the world as Leorio could make him. 

He wishes he’d told Killua that no one was angry with him, that no one was  _ ever _ angry with him here.)

Leorio is no psychologist, not even close, but he also isn’t nearly as unobservant or foolish as the kids seem to think he is. He knows, at the very least, the signs of being worn down, of being so overwhelmingly guilty and filled to the brim with self-loathing. He knows the different ways trauma can and will manifest in a child, and Killua, despite what he seems to think, is, undeniably, just a child. 

And although he doesn’t know what, exactly, Killua had to go through, back on Kukuroo Mountain, he does know that it was something horrible, something inexcusable, something he doesn’t have the right words for. It was something that gave him the ability to rip a man’s still-beating heart from his chest and not care about it at all. 

(Just the memory makes his chest ache, because a child should never look like that. A child should never be painted with dark, matted blood, thick and dripping down his arm like spilled ink. A child should never have such an unnerving vacancy in his eyes, especially not when he’s squeezing a heart in his mangled fist until it bursts and splatters cross his face.

He wonders, sometimes, how it took so long for Killua to finally give out.)

Leorio sees, now, that when Killua had started to withdraw, whining petulantly for things and starting fights and isolating himself in his room for the better part of the weekends, emerging only for the bathroom and meals, that he wasn’t just being a teenager, like he‘d wanted so badly to believe. He should have realized, when Killua did stop arguing with them every evening over everything and nothing at the same time, that things were not on their way to getting better. He should have realized, in hindsight, why Killua was nearly attached to him every day the moment he got home from the clinic, trailing behind him without even seeming to realize and refusing to go to bed before Leorio and Kurapika, regardless of the way his heavy eyelids would droop. 

(Leorio watched him shake himself awake multiple times a night for two weeks straight, sad and aching because Killua should feel safe enough, here, to sleep on his own.)

Killua has barely been here a month, in his own soft, small bedroom, full of handmade quilts and toys and anything else he can dream of, when everything comes crashing down. 

* * *

When Leorio wakes, dizzy and barely alive in this semi-conscious state, it’s still dark out, and he can faintly see the stars through the open window. 

The fact that his brain is even remotely functional, right now, is unusual, because he’s a pretty heavy sleeper. Kurapika is still beside him, snoring softly and definitely out cold, so Leorio figures it must be something else that woke him at this time of night. It could have been Gon, he supposes, getting himself water and tripping over one of the kitchen chairs on his way back to the bedroom, but he doubts it, because Kurapika isn’t a heavy sleeper and definitely would have heard him. Plus, the kid sleeps deeper than anyone Leorio has ever met, and would probably sooner get attacked than wake himself before sunrise. 

Leorio rubs at his eyes, blind without his glasses, and blinks blearily at the clock. It’s too dark to read it, even if he squints, which is frustrating. It’s ticking rhythmically, though, and it’s almost enough to lull him back to sleep, but there are alarm bells going off somewhere in the back of his mind that keep his stinging eyes open and trained on the blurry ceiling fan. 

He struggles to make the gears in his head start turning, and finally, finally pulls himself into an upright position. He yawns, and stretches, and his shoulders pop pleasantly as he stands. He cracks his neck and yawns again, larger this time, and shuffles towards the bedroom door, because he figures he may as well piss while he’s up. He stumbles out into the hall, nearly tripping over the rug on his way to the bathroom. 

He reaches the door, and it’s cracked, and the light is on, which is also weird. He blinks, confused, and frowns, because even Gon shuts the bathroom door when he goes, and he  _ always _ remembers to turn the lights off when he’s done. Leorio raps against the wood with his knuckles, gentle and faint so as not to wake anyone up, and nudges it open a little further with his foot. No one answers, and his frown deepens, so he pushes the door open a little more, and the stench of vomit nearly has him toppling forward when he pokes his head around the frame.

Killua is hunched over the toilet, heaving and coughing, and Leorio suddenly feels like throwing up himself. 

(Leorio is surprised he didn’t hear it, honestly, and hopes it’s because he’s just tired, and not because Killua was trying to keep himself quiet despite being so sick.)

The poor kid is flushed pink and visibly feverish, his hair ratty and sticking to his face, and Leorio hears puke slosh into the bowl. It’s already pretty full, and he knows Killua has been here quite a while, curled up on cold tiles all by himself. He winces at the sounds, of gagging and wetness and the suffering of a child, and comes the rest of the way into the room. He crouches behind Killua, who gasps for air like he’s been under water, his body finally allowing him a break. Leorio’s not in the least bit squeamish, not about this kind of thing, but this entire scene is making his stomach twist uncomfortably with something other than nausea. 

(Something tells him that Killua’s silence is wrong. The fact that Killua is in here by himself, delirious and covered in his own sick, is wrong. The way he’s gasping, like a child narrowly saved from drowning, is wrong, and Leorio tries so, so hard to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that’s mentioning all the ways a person can be tortured that it knows of. He doesn’t want to think that a parent could do that to their child.)

He presses a steady hand to Killua’s back, and even through his t-shirt Leorio can tell that he’s absolutely burning up. Killua hiccups, lifting his head with what must be incredible effort, looking back at him with glossy, reddened eyes. He’s sweaty and crying and cloudy in just about every sense of the word, so Leorio moves his palm in slow, circular motions over his spine. Killua slurs out something that was probably supposed to be his name, and Leorio smiles at him as warmly as he can, even though there’s resentment, sadness, panic, bubbling beneath the surface of his skin.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, and Killua sniffles. He blinks, hazy, and rests his cheek against the porcelain. He keeps staring at Leorio, almost like he doesn’t know him, stomach acid and multicolored vomit smeared across his face. Leorio reaches out with his free hand to grab a tissue, and when he brings it to Killua’s face he doesn’t protest, looking far away, like he’s only watching Leorio take care of him and not at all present in the act. He’s not fully here, right now, and Leorio doesn’t blame him for trying to be anywhere else. 

Leorio wipes him off, careful, and drops the soiled toilet paper into the bowl before flushing the mess. He presses the back of his hand to Killua’s forehead, and hums, brows furrowed. He’s hot, but not critically so, which is good. 

Killua mumbles something at him, but it’s worryingly slurred and just as incoherent as it was before, and when Leorio frowns at him in confusion, mouth open to speak, Killua starts crying again, full force and definitely enough to make him sick again. Leorio startles, teeth clacking as he shuts his jaw. He’s barely able to rearrange Killua’s limp body in time for him to start heaving into the toilet through his sobs, which, no doubt, is making it much, much harder to breathe. Leorio shushes him, brushing his wild curls from his face the best he can. He has puke in the tips of his hair, all the way to his bangs, sticky and slimy beneath Leorio’s fingers. 

Leorio keeps rubbing his back and stroking his hair away from his mouth, because it’s all he can really do until he stops heaving, until he’s well enough for Leorio to be able to get him medicine. He can tell that Killua hurts, because it’s violent and his breath is rattling and all that’s coming out of him anymore is spit mingled with yellow-green stomach acid. 

(Leorio can’t even remember the last time he was this sick. He doesn’t envy Killua, but he would, without hesitation, take his place in a heartbeat.)

He hears noise to his left, and he looks over to see Kurapika with his head and one sock-covered foot in the door, squinting. His earring  _ tinks  _ faintly against one of his rings when he brushes his hair back. His eyes flash a pretty shade of pink once he realizes what’s happening, and his expression falls.

“What can I do?” He asks, quiet and unobtrusive. He seems calm, but Leorio knows that he’s just as worried as he is. Leorio turns his gaze back to Killua. 

(He looks so small like this, and it makes Leorio’s chest ache, because they all forget, sometimes, that Killua is just a child. Leorio tries not to think about it, because it’s agonizing enough just being here to watch him finally feel safe enough to fall apart.

He knows that from this utter destruction will come healing, but that doesn’t mean that watching a child be torn apart just to be slowly put back together, piece by shattered piece, any less painful than it is.)

“Not a whole lot, right now,” he sighs, exhausted and frustrated and hurting for the little boy with his head in the toilet, alternating between retching up nothing and choking out gasps and wheezing sobs. 

Kurapika nods, tucks his hair behind his ear again, and crouches on Killua’s other side, tucking his feet beneath his thighs. He takes over holding Killua’s hair back, humming quietly and lightly scratching his nails over his sweat-damp scalp. Leorio doubts that Killua can hear anything over the ringing in his ears, and he knows that Kurapika is well aware of this. He says nothing, and keeps rubbing Killua’s back, trying to ignore the way his muscles are trembling.

It takes several more long, torturous moments before Killua’s abdomen stops contracting, and he’s able to slump back against Leorio. He’s too weak, and Leorio grits his teeth, because he doesn’t know if Killua ate dinner while he was at work, and he hadn’t really thought he needed to ask. Leorio shuffles him delicately, holding him as he cries, hands fists pitifully into his pajama top. There’s puke on his face, white where he isn’t flushed with fever. It’s in his hair, under his fingernails, and he’s getting all over Leorio and he knows that he’s going to have to change after they get Killua to bed, but he can’t really find it in himself to care.

Kurapika shifts onto his knees for just a moment to brush Killua’s hair from his face, fingertips dancing over his forehead. He makes a face, and Leorio knows that he’s just discovered how bad the fever is.

He rises, knees popping, to wet a washcloth with warm water before Leorio can ask him to. He wipes Killua’s mouth, his nose, his eyes, so, so gently, and Killua leans into the touch like he’s starved, and Leorio imagines that he is. The affection reminds him of the way new mothers will stroke their shaking fingers over their newborns’ wet cheeks, gross and pink and ugly but still so, so beautiful. 

Kurapika rings out the cloth between uses, and moves the rag through his hair next, cleaning out chunks of undigested food and spit and mucus. He keeps working until Killua’s breath has evened out and he’s pliant in Leorio’s lap, cheek resting against his collarbone. Leorio, without really thinking about it, presses a kiss to the top of his head, and stands, Killua held securely in his arms. Kurapika smiles at them both, and it’s both worried and adoring.

“I’ll get him something for the fever,” he says quietly, placing a hand over Leorio’s arm. “Should I make ginger tea or just get him water?”

“He probably won’t drink much,” Leorio answers. Killua blinks up at him, and he’s more checked out than Leorio has ever seen him. “Just water for now, I guess.”

Kurapika nods, and when he opens his eyes again they’re no longer red. Instead, they’re a warm, honey brown. He slips by Leorio, and Leorio follows him out, carrying Killua to his bedroom. Gon is asleep on the pull out in the main room, so Leorio isn’t too worried about disturbing him. 

He sets Killua gently on the bed, but Killua’s pale hands stay fisted tightly in his shirt. Leorio places his hands over Killua’s wrists, loose and offering easy escape, and crouches before him to meet his eyes. Killua is crying again, and there’s something in his eyes that Leorio doesn’t want to understand the meaning of.

“We need to get you changed, kiddo,” he says, gently prying Killua’s hands away. His grip is weak and he lets go with little fight, sniffling pitifully. Leorio strokes his thumbs over his hands until they unclench, and puts them gently in his lap afterwards. Killua holds onto his pajama pants instead.

Leorio steps away from the bed to get him a new shirt, digging through his dresser drawer until he finds one he deems soft enough. It’s a lovely shade of lavender, and it feels like velvet under his fingers. He changes him easily, and those alarm bells are starting to ring again because Killua is barely even here. He’s too sick to care about anything, and probably too sick to know what’s going on, and it’s concerning.

Leorio, thankfully, doesn’t have time to think about it very long, because Kurapika enters just as he finishes dressing Killua in his new, clean shirt. He has pills in one hand, fever reducers and what’s likely something for nausea, and a glass of water in the other. He places both on the nightstand, and sits beside Killua. He places a hand on his back with the lightest pressure he can manage, and when Killua turns his attention to him, Leorio goes into the hall to find him some extra blankets. The hall closet has the heavy winter quilts, and he takes the two softest and heads back. 

Killua is in the same place as before when he returns a few minutes later, but the little red pills are gone and half of the water isn’t in the cup anymore, which means Kurapika was able to coax him into taking them despite his normal hesitance to put anything in his body that he didn’t pick out himself. 

(He’d mentioned, once, many months ago, that he was immune to poison. Leorio believes him, of course he does, but he also knows that Killua had to have worked to be immune to so many things, and the thought makes him both righteously furious and unbearably sad at the same time. He sees the way Killua reacts to things, and he can only imagine how awful it must have been for a child to build up tolerances like this. 

Given the opportunity, Leorio thinks that he would like nothing more than to hurt Killua’s parents. Just seeing Killua like this is enough to frighten him, and he doesn’t want to know how Killua’s family had it in them to rip their son apart over and over and over again, for years, and convince themselves it was in any way okay.)

Kurapika rises from where he’d been crouching in front of Killua to take the blankets from him, and Leorio smiles at him gratefully as he passes them over. Leorio lifts Killua for him, and he’s so, so light, and Kurapika spreads and tucks the blankets into the bed, securing them so they won’t fall or get thrown off should Killua be unable to sleep soundly. He pulls the covers back, and Leorio places Killua down on the mattress, tucking his feet under the sheets, and he just sinks into his pillows. Kurapika tucks him in, brushing his bangs back to feel his head, and smiles at him. He presses a kiss to his hair and rises so Leorio can take his place.

“Get some sleep, bud. Yell for us if you feel sick again, okay? Doesn’t matter what time it is.” Leorio pats his hand and gives him a warm look. 

Killua’s eyes slip shut, and his body relaxes further into the bed. He smiles, and rises, his eyes beginning to sting with tiredness again.

He meets his husband at the door and yawns so largely that his jaw pops. Kurapika smiles at him in mild amusement, exhausted too, and they’re about to leave, but then Killua makes a little noise in the back of his throat, raw and infantile, and reaches a hand out. His eyes are still unfocused, but they’re tearful again.

“Killua?” Kurapika says, and Leorio follows him back to the bed. He sits at Killua’s feet and rests a hand on his calf over the layers of blankets, stroking back and forth soothingly, brows furrowed with worry. Kurapika gets onto his knees before the bed, taking Killua’s hand in his own. He rubs over his knuckles with his thumb. “What’s the matter? Do you feel like you’re going to be sick again, sweetheart?” He puts his other hand on Killua’s cheek, and Killua leans almost desperately into the touch, sniffling. 

Killua starts to cry in earnest, and Kurapika shoots Leorio an alarmingly anxious look, and he rises, ready to go and get something for Killua to throw up into.

“I’m gonna go get him a bowl-”

“No!” Killua sobs, pulling his other hand out from under himself to reach out for Leorio, and his heart shatters in his chest. “No, no no-” 

“Shh, honey, shh,” Kurapika hushes, rising to slot himself in the spot between Killua’s chest and knees. “It’s okay, you’re okay. He’s just getting you a bucket so you don’t get sick all over yourself again, baby.” He runs his fingers through Killua’s curls, murmuring soft, nonsense things in an effort to calm him.

“No no no no, stay,” he hiccups around another shuddering sob, trying to see Leorio around Kurapika’s body blocking his view. “I’ll be good, please stay, don’ go, please, please-”

“I’m right here, Killua-” Leorio half-jogs the few steps back to the bed, taking Kurapika’s previous place on the floor. Killua’s eyes are wild, frightened, and Leorio takes his other hand. “Deep breaths, kiddo, shh. I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere.”

It takes another few minutes of soft reassurances and gentle touches for Killua to settle back down. Once he’s finally calm again he deflates, barely awake, but his grip is still tight on their hands. 

Leorio has moved to sit in the bed beside him, back against the headboard. Killua has his snot and tear covered face pressed into Leorio’s thigh, a hand wrapped tightly around his wrist. Leorio cards his fingers through his curls, his own eyelids beginning to droop. He yawns largely, and Kurapika gives him a sweet look before yawning himself, covering his mouth with the hand Killua isn’t attached to.

“Go to sleep now, baby,” Kurapika whispers, rhythmically stroking his knuckles over Killua’s flushed cheek. He gives his hand a squeeze. “We’ll be right here.”

Killua flicks his gaze to Leorio, desperate and searching, as if he’s asking him to confirm that they don’t plan on disappearing in the night, and he smiles.

“We won’t go anywhere, bud. Promise.” 

Killua shuts his eyes, finally, and falls asleep almost instantly. Leorio strokes his hair until he, too, falls asleep; the last thing he sees is Kurapika slumped over Killua’s hip, and he’s very warm.

* * *

When Leorio wakes up, it’s bright, and his neck aches like a motherfucker. He groans, softly and to himself, and shifts somewhat. He looks dazedly at pastel blue walls and realizes that this isn’t his room, and that he must have fallen asleep sitting up. He brings his left hand, unoccupied, to rub at the knots in his shoulders.

There’s a weight on his side, and he looks down to find a child’s fingers gripping tightly to his right hand. He blinks, and smiles, warm and softening around the edges. After pressing a hand to Killua’s sweaty forehead and determining that his fever has definitely gone down, Leorio brings the hands up to kiss them, stroking over them with his thumbs. He gently unwraps the fingers from his own, and Killua curls them to his chest, showing no signs of waking even as Leorio very awkwardly eases himself from the bed. 

He stretches, and bites back a swear, not wanting to disturb Killua, still flushed pink, and leaves as quickly and quietly as he can. He leaves the door cracked, just to be sure he’ll be able to hear him if he needs either of them, and heads to the kitchen.

Kurapika is nursing what is probably his third cup of coffee over a plate of mostly-eaten scrambled eggs and sausages. There’s another plate, empty and smeared with syrup, in the sink, and Leorio grins. 

“Yo.”

Kurapika looks up at him and his eyes crinkle at the corners, glowing faintly. He waves and swallows his bite. 

“Good morning,” he hums, stabbing a mini sausage with his fork. Leorio slides into the chair beside him, and Kurapika scoots his plate in front of him without thought. Leorio presses a kiss to the side of his head and begins to eat.

“Did you check on Killua when you woke up?”

“Of course,” Kurapika takes a swig of coffee, offering Leorio a sip afterwards. “I took his temperature, and he still has a fever. He wasn’t nearly as warm as he was last night though, and I was able to get him to wake up just long enough to take more medicine. He was pretty delirious but he knew who I was, at least.”

Leorio hums thoughtfully, and swallows a large mouthful of eggs. Kurapika passes him the coffee. “It’s good that his fever’s down, but he was still pretty warm when I felt his head. What time did you give him medicine?”

“A little after eight. He shouldn’t be due for more for another two hours, so don’t worry.” Leorio nods, and snorts indignantly when Kurapika affectionately pinches his nose.

“Ow!” he yelps, rubbing dramatically at his face. It hadn't hurt at all, and Kurapika is well aware of this. He snickers, and his earring swings just a little with the movement of his shoulders, the light catching the gem perfectfully, and Leorio can’t help but grin at him, unable to keep up the charade. 

Leorio rises and presses another kiss to the side of his husband’s head, fork clinking against the plate in his hand. 

“Are you still hungry?”

“Nah,” Leorio hums, going around the island to the sink. He turns the water on, and runs it over the painted porcelain. “Where’s Gon?”

“He’s-”

“Right here!” Leorio lurches forward, startled, as a body slams into his. His hips hit the counter, and there’s a nose bone pressed directly between his shoulder blades.

“Morning, Gon!” He laughs, reaching behind him to swat playfully at Gon, swiping at dark, fluffy spikes of hair. Gon pulls away, and Leorio turns around to return the blinding smile he’s being given. 

He can hear Kurapika laughing quietly to his right, and he quirks a brow at him.

“Good morning, Leorio! Kurapika said Killua is sick.” Leorio leans over slightly to properly ruffle Gon’s hair.

“He is,” he answers, nodding, and Gon leans into his hand with a smile so bright it’s almost blinding. “But don’t worry, he’s in good hands.”

Leorio glances briefly at Kurapika, who flushes, and looks back to Gon.

“I know!” he says, beaming, and Leorio positively melts. He pulls Gon into his arms, and squeezes him as close as he can. Gon laughs, and it sounds like birds in the afternoon.

(He knows that trauma will often manifest in illness once a child feels safe, secure, and stable. He knows this, and he knows that he can’t change this, but Leorio still wishes that Killua didn’t need to have that place, wishes that Killua’s body didn’t have to rely on basic instinct and trauma response to allow him to be vulnerable. But, Leorio is grateful, at least, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Killua had unconsciously deemed him and Kurapika safe enough to dissolve next to. 

They were safe enough, secure enough, stable enough, in Killua’s eyes, to trust that he could fall apart and everything would be just fine, because they would take care of him.)

Leorio feels warm, and happy, and full of more love than he ever thought he would feel. He meets Kurapika’s eyes over Gon’s head, and he knows, without even saying a word, that Kurapika agrees.

Gon pulls away, then, his nose wrinkled, and tells him that his shirt smells like puke, and Kurapika bursts into a fit of laughter. 

**Author's Note:**

> \+ All people (children, teens, and adults) will react differently to trauma, exhibiting symptoms including, but not limited to: withdrawal or regression; preoccupation with the event or events, needing to relive them in some way or another; nightmares; anxiety, including things like clingy behavior, trouble concentrating, irritability, and sleep problems; rebellion, need for control; emotional outbursts of varying kinds and intensities; and physical symptoms.  
> \- Some examples of emotional reactions can include, but are not limited to: anxiety, fear, panic; shock, numbness, dissociation, isolation, withdrawal; continued alarm, such as feeling like the danger is still present; flashbacks; and the let-down phase, where exhaustion may become obvious, and can include things like avoidance, guilt, over-sensitivity, withdrawal, and depression.  
> \- Some examples of physical reactions can include, but are not limited to: fatigue/exhaustion; disturbed sleep, nightmares, night-terrors; nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, stomach ache; headaches; excessive sweating; palpitations/increased heart rate; loss of memory; behavioral issues, such as tantrums; breathing difficulties, choking feelings within the throat or chest; aching muscles/body, shaking, dizziness; loss of appetite/increase in appetite; bed-wetting; and memory loss. 
> 
> \+ Some ways to deal with trauma/trauma reactions:  
> \- allow time, both for things to happen and for things to get better  
> \- make sure the person (or yourself, whoever is experiencing the trauma reaction) rests and relaxes  
> \- vocalize what is needed, communicate, talk about what happened/is happening  
> \- be understanding, be supportive  
> \- recognize behavioral changes  
> \- provide (or seek out) extra attention -> especially if times of separation are difficult  
> \- (as a parent) talk about the child's feelings with them -> alternatively, talk to someone about our feelings -> (as a parent) be able to handle with your own problems properly so your children can have healthy role models for dealing with things  
> \- recognize and remember that everyone reacts differently  
> \- allow your child (or yourself) a sense of control, even over seemingly minor things; loss of control and worsen/cause stress -> (as parents) try not to be too sheltering or protective of your child so they can feel that the world is a safe place to be, even if bad things happen sometimes  
> \- try and stick to routines  
> \- remember that your child (or you) is the same person as you were before the trauma  
> \- even if a person may push you away, be sure to keep your support and lines of communication open  
> \- Any reaction to trauma you have is normal, and okay. As long as you try to get better, nothing you do is abnormal.


End file.
